A funny phrase came out of my mouth this morning: "Hey, you Turkey! Those are mine! ". Now, before anyone has a chance to accuse me of blatant name calling, let me just clarify exactly who I was shouting at:
Now you see why I called him a "Turkey"? What else would you call one of my heirloom Bourbon Reds? Now let me show you what he was doing that inspired my outburst:
Yep. He was stealing blackberries.
Alright, let's be honest--I don't think he really knew he was stealing. After all, Bourbon Reds are excellent foragers (which is why I raise them), and since they've been given free reign to free-range anywhere on the homestead, it's only natural that he would be drawn like a magnet to the abundantly appealing fruit blanketing the blackberry brambles.
I guess I'm not the only one who can't resist gobbling down a ripe blackberry.
I know I've previously discussed my greediness concerning blackberries, so let me just quickly say that generosity is not my first response when faced with a situation like this. I think you might agree if put in my position, so let's just get you there right now. I'll set the stage:
It's a calm, beautiful morning on the homestead. The sun has just crept over the horizon, and its rays are cascading over the blackberry patch; The vibrant fruit practically glows in the early morning light. You are peacefully ambling along the path through the brambles, picking the plump dark berries dangling from the tips of the red clusters and gently dropping them into the basket on your arm. The sounds of country life surround you: an occasional crow from a rooster, the tall grasses rustling in the breeze, the squeaks from a pair of bickering squirrels. A busy bumble bee zooms past you as you round the bend of your own private "Garden of Eden". Then suddenly your harmonious world is abruptly shattered when you come face to face with a real-life berry poacher, caught red-handed (or red-feathered) in the act of berry-thieving.
Startling, isn't it? You figure out your own response.
Alright, let's be honest--I don't think he really knew he was stealing. After all, Bourbon Reds are excellent foragers (which is why I raise them), and since they've been given free reign to free-range anywhere on the homestead, it's only natural that he would be drawn like a magnet to the abundantly appealing fruit blanketing the blackberry brambles.
I guess I'm not the only one who can't resist gobbling down a ripe blackberry.
I know I've previously discussed my greediness concerning blackberries, so let me just quickly say that generosity is not my first response when faced with a situation like this. I think you might agree if put in my position, so let's just get you there right now. I'll set the stage:
It's a calm, beautiful morning on the homestead. The sun has just crept over the horizon, and its rays are cascading over the blackberry patch; The vibrant fruit practically glows in the early morning light. You are peacefully ambling along the path through the brambles, picking the plump dark berries dangling from the tips of the red clusters and gently dropping them into the basket on your arm. The sounds of country life surround you: an occasional crow from a rooster, the tall grasses rustling in the breeze, the squeaks from a pair of bickering squirrels. A busy bumble bee zooms past you as you round the bend of your own private "Garden of Eden". Then suddenly your harmonious world is abruptly shattered when you come face to face with a real-life berry poacher, caught red-handed (or red-feathered) in the act of berry-thieving.
Startling, isn't it? You figure out your own response.
After my initial outburst (which by the way, didn't phase that tricky turkey at all), I did my best to calm down. I think he noticed, because he took a few steps in my direction and gave me this look:
My heart softened a bit. I thought he was trying to communicate with me, maybe even trying to apologize, but it turned out he was just moving into position to do this:
Now I've raised turkeys on the homestead for about a decade, and I thought I'd seen all their moves: strutting, dancing, waddling, flying... but I've never until this moment here seen one jump straight up.
But listen, I know all about doing what you have to do in order to get to that one irresistible glossy ripe berry.
But listen, I know all about doing what you have to do in order to get to that one irresistible glossy ripe berry.
And the best berries always seem to be just out of my reach too...even when I stand on my tippy toes and stretch my neck out as far as it will go.
Hmm...this turkey and I might be more alike than I thought. I get where he's coming from.
Now that I think about it, I believe I may have discovered a kindred spirit right there in the blackberry patch this morning--and it seems perfectly fitting that it's an auburn-hued one with a belly full of berries!
Hey, instead of "two peas in a pod", I think I'll call us "two berries on a bramble"!
I like it, I really do.
Hmm...this turkey and I might be more alike than I thought. I get where he's coming from.
Now that I think about it, I believe I may have discovered a kindred spirit right there in the blackberry patch this morning--and it seems perfectly fitting that it's an auburn-hued one with a belly full of berries!
Hey, instead of "two peas in a pod", I think I'll call us "two berries on a bramble"!
I like it, I really do.
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